Hit List (Stone Barrington #53)(38)

Stone looked around.

“I’ll get it for you,” Carol said, then left the room. She brought it back a minute later.

Stone looked inside. “I don’t see a phone.”

“Side pocket,” she said.

Stone found a zippered pocket inside, opened it, and extracted an iPhone. “You want to call Sig?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“I can’t look at the contents of your phone without waiting for the police to get a search warrant,” Stone said, “unless you want to give me permission.”

She shook her head again. “Give it to me.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Stone said. “You might call a cab and skate on me.”

She smiled and shrugged.

“Hope you’re not in any pain,” Stone said. “The anesthesia will wear off soon. When that happens, let me know, and I’ll ask the nurse to get you something.”

She nodded.

“What’s the dog’s name?”

“Trixie.”

“Good, the pound will want that. At least he won’t have to go through the stress of a name change.”

“She,” Frances said.

“Sorry, I didn’t have time for that inspection. Can I get you anything? A newspaper? A silenced .22?”

“Yes, please.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, that’s gone to the police lab, and somehow, I don’t think you’ll get it back. I hope it isn’t your favorite piece.”

She shrugged.

“Is there anything at all you’d like to talk about?” Stone asked. “I mean, after me there’s only your lawyer, and we know how boring lawyers are.”

“You’re a lawyer,” she whispered.

“Yes, but I’m a sweet guy. This is really your last chance to ask for something and, maybe, get it.”

“A razor blade,” she said.

“Ah, no—then you’d be a danger to yourself or others, as the judges like to put it.”

“Just to me.”

“I suppose things must look pretty dark, if you’re thinking that way. Listen, in my capacity as a lawyer, though not your lawyer, let me give you some free advice. You didn’t actually shoot me, so if you’re willing to have a real chat, there’s a good chance you could walk. In fact, as the intended victim, I can guarantee it. I’ll stand up for you in court. After all, you’d be preventing half a dozen more murders. A judge will be impressed.”

She said nothing but looked thoughtful.

“Think about it,” he said. “What did Sig ever do for you but hang you out to dry? You’re not going to hear from him again, you know. You might see him, briefly, before you talk, when he comes to cut your throat. I’m surprised he hasn’t already tried.”

Stone was conscious of somebody silently entering the room. He cut a glance and saw Dino leaning on the door.

“Tell you what,” Stone said. “Give me everything, and I’ll continue to offer you free legal advice, informally. I’ll get you out and send you on your way with your two grand—and I’ll add another five to that.”

She looked at him steadily.

“And I’ll get Trixie back for you, even if I have to rip her from the arms of some darling child.”

This time, she managed a laugh. “I love you,” she said, “but go fuck yourself.”

Stone laughed, too, and let himself out of the room. He beckoned Carol. “You need to put her on suicide watch. She’ll try to off herself if she can figure a way.”

“We watch ’em all,” Carol said.

“If you’ll pay close attention to her, and talk me up, I’ll buy you a steak dinner.”

“Sure, you will.” She snorted.

Stone handed her the bag from La Goulue. “Here’s your steak dinner,” he said, “in advance.”





31


Stone went and sat on a bench in the hallway, next to Dino.

“What did you get?” Dino asked.

“Her first name is Frances,” Stone said. “She may be staying, with Larkin, at the Edison Hotel, in the theater district, but don’t count on it.”

“Anything else?”

“I made her an offer she may not be able to refuse—once she’s thought it over.”

“You told her she’d walk.”

“She didn’t actually shoot anybody,” Stone replied, “and she probably has a clean sheet. Have you run her prints, yet?”

“Yep. She’s got a clean sheet.”

“Then give me a chance to work her,” Stone said.

“Okay, you’ve got carte blanche, until I change my mind.”

“Good. You can start by sending somebody up to the pound and springing her dog. She’ll respond to that.”

“What if it’s already been adopted?”

“Unadopt it. By the way, it’s a girl dog.”

“What breed?”

“Uh, small, hairy, cute.”

“Color?”

“Brownish, I think.”

“You have a photographic memory, don’t you?”

“Oh, and her name is Trixie. Maybe she’ll be wearing an ID tag with her address on it.”